


The Sending

by rynoa29



Category: Ao no Exorcist | Blue Exorcist
Genre: F/M, M/M, in the meantime buckle up we're in for a ride, slight mention of shura's questionable upbringing, tbh the whole purpose of this fic is all for this one, very very self indulgent scene, you'll know when we get there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2020-07-31 12:36:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20115211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rynoa29/pseuds/rynoa29
Summary: The dead need guidance, and in the aftermath of the Blue Night, Shiro is tasked with guiding the lingering souls who have yet to move on. Unrequited Shiro/Yuri; Shiro/Mephisto. Spoilers for manga ch. 100 and on.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old fic that's been long in the works, and honestly still a WIP, but I'm very much focused on it right now, so who knows, maybe I'll finish this as quickly as my last fic!
> 
> Written in dedication to my dear friend, Dimwitt, & with thanks to my partner in crime, Jeiidaan, who helped me a lot with the creation of this!

ROUND TABLE COUNCIL HALL

“Thank you all for coming on such a short notice.”

It was in the very early hours of the morning when, deep beneath the Vatican Palace, an emergency meeting was hosted at the Knights of the True Cross Headquarters. Seated around the room were several high-ranking members of the Order, as well as none other than the three individuals who have led the Knights of the True Cross Order since its inception—the Grigori.

“We’ve had a hard, painful year, as you are all intimately aware of. Our Organization has suffered many heavy losses in our battle to reclaim Asylum and its hostages from Satan’s grip. And in the end, despite all our precautions, we suffered an even greater loss within our ranks in just a single night. The nightmares that this dreadful event has fueled and the grief that now sits in our hearts will not be overcome easily. But it is, at least, a small comfort to see those of you that remain with us.”

The Grigori’s somber voice carried across the large, circular room. Of the nine individuals sitting around the table, none of them said a word for a long moment, allowing the silence to stretch—but the heavy pause could not linger long. The weight of the duties they all carried pressed on. 

“As much as I appreciate the pleasantries, we do not exactly have the time to spare on them. There are still a great many things for us to do and we are short-staffed as it is. Why have you summoned us here today, Grigori?” Adam Kozlov, the head of the Romanian Branch Office, asked, impatience etched in his tone.

"Took the words right out of my mouth." Shiro Fujimoto, a highly renowned exorcist from the Japanese branch, grumbled. "We should be working, not sitting here."

"We called you here for that very reason. But before we touch on that, there is another matter we would like to settle first. Have there been any updates on the current whereabouts of Yuri Egin?"

That particular line of questioning caused Shiro to grimace. "No luck here,” he said, shaking his head. “After I dealt with the kids, I went back to look for her, but she completely vanished. How, I don't know. It didn't seem like she could walk at the time."

"She must have had help," Lucy Yang, an experienced exorcist from the Chinese branch, said. "But none of my teams have seen hide nor hair of her or any sort of accomplice." She shared a brief glance with her companion, a blond, muscular exorcist from the Mexican branch sitting on her left-hand side.

"Nor have mine," Osceola Redarm confirmed, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’ve kept an eye on all her former friends and acquaintances these past few months. None have pinged our radar, but we will continue to investigate.”

"Perhaps she, too, passed away during the Blue Night," the smooth voice of Mephisto Pheles proposed. The Honorary Knight was sitting across from the Grigori, leaning forward with his chin hovering over his gloved hands as he spoke. "I can't imagine she met a kind end after having lost her children. Even if the loss itself didn't drive her to suicide, I doubt that even Satan himself was pleased with her towards the end. That might explain why you haven't been able to find a trace of her."

"Oh, you would know all about that, wouldn't you?" It was Tamara Vollas, the only remaining Arc Knight alive today, who spoke up. The Norwegian woman was looking at Mephisto with suspicion in her eyes. "That's a convenient end for Yuri Egin, isn't it? On paper that is."

"My dear ma’am, I haven't got a clue on what you're trying to imply. Surely you don't suspect me of having a hand in the matter?" Mephisto asked, an amused smirk curling on the side of his lips. 

Tamara's gaze was as cold and as sharp as a freshly-cut sapphire. "Frankly, Sir Pheles, I think you ought to remember your place. It is the fault of your very kind that we are in this position. And yet you dare sit among us, without a single ounce of remorse?"

“My dear, believe me when I say that I, too, have suffered a great loss thanks to this catastrophe. While I cannot help my familial ties, my loyalty, as always, remains on the side of the Knights of the True Cross Order."

"Pheles has been nothing but faithful." Shiro, who had drawn the short straw of sitting next to the Demon King, couldn’t help but to cut in. He eyed Tamara with an irritated scowl as he crossed his arms. "Just because Satan decided to attack Assiah doesn't mean this guy had a hand in it. We don't all follow in our father's footsteps, do we, Tamara?" He furrowed his brow and looked across the table at her. Tamara met his gaze with a fierce glare, the outline of her jaw growing taut. "Throwing suspicion on someone as valuable as Pheles just because he's one of the Baal is a sure fire way to cause unrest, and we can't afford that right now. Not after what happened."

"You _ will _ hold your tongue on matters that do not concern you," Tamara told him, her voice sharp. 

"But Father Fujimoto is correct." The soft voice of the sole female member of the Grigori cut through. She was looking straight at Mephisto as she spoke. "This isn't the time to fight amongst ourselves. And it was us that requested Sir Pheles to join us today."

"Indeed, it was. And why was that, exactly?" Mephisto asked with a polite smile, not at all hiding the glimmer of curiosity in his keen, emerald eyes.

The rest of the participants sitting around the round table were curious too. They all looked at the Grigori, expectant. It was the oldest of the trio, whose mustache was the only visible part of his face, who answered the question, his voice low and gravely.

"The dead need guidance," he said. 

At once, the exorcists sitting around the council hall straightened up. They glanced among each other with uncertainty. Lucy’s sharp gaze lingered on Tamara first, and then on Shiro. 

When Shiro met her eyes, he felt a heavy weight sink in the pit of his stomach.

“And whom amongst us shall be granted the honor?” Lucy asked, when no one else dared to speak.

The question caused Adam’s face to lose some color. He visibly swallowed as he averted his gaze from the Grigori’s direction. Osceola’s expression, in the meantime, had become drawn, the grimace on his lips somber. Even Tamara, who was known for her steadfast composure, looked nervous as they waited for the Grigori’s answer. Her hands clenched silently in front of her as she steeled herself for their response.

“Father Fujimoto... there is no one better suited than you, who personally faced and defied Satan time and time again, and who defeated his spawn, to take up the mantle left by Abel. Will you accept?”

_ I should have known that it would turn out like this. _

Shiro did not allow himself to show any outward reaction. He leaned forward to speak, his voice coming out in a measured, even tone. “Yes, of course.”

It was a bittersweet honor. For years, he’d dreamed of becoming paladin. All he’d ever wanted was to be freed from the shackles that kept him bound from the moment he had first opened his eyes into this world. And becoming the paladin had been the ultimate solution—it meant having status, money, honor, even women. He had considered this the greatest freedom, back then. 

But a certain demon’s cynical warning had been right from the start - becoming paladin wasn’t a ticket to freedom, and Shiro had realized his folly much too late in the game.

_ But I don’t have time to dwell on that now, _ he told himself_. _

“I am grateful for the honor.” He addressed the room with a formality he had not cared to show earlier in the meeting, lest they doubt his sincerity. “But I have to admit I have some… apprehension of the task ahead. The Blue Night was global. It was all over the world.” He paused, weighing the implications even as he spoke. “How am I supposed to do something on that scale?”

"That is where Sir Pheles comes in," the eldest of the Grigori answered. "We are well aware that this is an unprecedented event. Time is of the essence here and the range you must cover is vast. It will not be an easy task… As such, we are requesting that those of you in this room be present to support Father Fujimoto in what is to come. You will need to obtain the blessings of The Eight to increase your range of the Rite of Passing, and there must be little delay in between each of your prayers. Reaching each location would take much too long by any regular means of transportation."

"Which is why, Sir Pheles," the female Grigori continued, "we will need you to aid everyone here by providing them with your special means of transportation. You will, of course, need to keep your distance during the proceedings, but I think it would be best if you remained within reach… A precaution should things go south.”

For a time, no one spoke as they all drank in the challenges that lay ahead of them. Only Mephisto, as cool as ever, seemed unperturbed as he answered the Grigori’s request.

"As you wish," the Demon King said, inclining his head in acquiescence as a smile, as smooth and as sharp as a dagger, curved his lips. "I will—"

But Tamara finally found her words then—the very sound of Mephisto’s voice cut through the rest of her shock, and she rose to her feet fast, pressing her hands heavily down on the table. "Grigori! Surely, you can't expect us to take him along! His presence itself would be an insult to the dead!" Tamara’s voice rose as she glared heatedly in the Demon King’s direction. 

Mephisto let out a small huff at the interruption. He frowned at the Norwegian exorcist, the curl at the top of his head twitching slightly. "Need I remind you who exactly you will be summoning to help these unfortunate souls peacefully pass on to the next world? I assure you, I will, in no way, disturb the proceedings."

Despite his somber mood, Shiro couldn't help but to hide a quiet snort beneath his breath; it was further drowned out by Adam. He, too, was no longer shell-shocked, but instead spluttering with outrage.

"Excuse me, but—the blessings of The Eight? That will take us at least a week to manage!" he protested. "You can't possibly ask all of us to participate. We don't exactly have the time to spare for that."

Osceola glanced at Shiro with a sympathetic frown, but nodded along with Adam’s words. "We still have many injured that need tending, barriers that need restoring, and several demon outbreaks that must be dealt with, despite our shortage of personnel. I know this is no easy task to perform, but is it really wise for us to abandon our posts so soon?"

Shiro’s hands briefly rubbed his face, fingertips pressing into his temples. “You know I hate to say it, but that kind of stuff will have to be delegated.” With the little personnel they had left, and so many of them inexperienced, it was a hard choice to leave them behind to handle it all on their own.

And yet… Shiro leaned forward on his elbows, his expression grave. 

“There is no time to spare, and we oughta look at the big picture here. This ritual can’t be spread out. It’s either all at once or not at all. It might take a week… Probably a few more days if things don’t go as planned?” Shiro shook his head, as if to wave away the pessimistic thought. “It’s not ideal, but if we don’t do it soon, we’ll have an outbreak unlike any we’ve seen in our time. Preventative measures have to be taken or our problem will only get bigger. And it’s already big enough.” The paladin sat up and scanned the room for further protests. “The sooner we ensure the dead have all passed on, the better. It’s not the best odds… but this is our best option.”

“Hmm.” A gravely hum of thought carried across the table. Shiro met Lucy’s gaze once more and she nodded in agreement. “I stand with the Grigori and the Paladin. We have less than 48 hours to prepare and delegate. We should make use of it.”

Beside her, Adam let out a long sigh and slumped into his seat tiredly. “I suppose if there is no other way... Very well.” 

“You will need to wrap up your affairs in less time than that, Shiro,” the Grigori cautioned. "You must begin your preparations for the Rite of Passing tonight. Please see to it that you are on time for them."

“I’ll be there.” Shiro nodded, shooting a glance towards Mephisto, who met his eyes briefly with a raised eyebrow before redirecting his attention to the next speaker. 

“If that is all, Grigori, then I request that we be allowed to take our leave,” Tamara cut in. Her hands were still curled into fists, her body taut with frustration. A few dark curls had slipped out of her ponytail and were now hanging at the side of her face, framing her expression away from their sight. 

"Tamara..." The Grigori member nearest to her let out a quiet sigh. It was clear to all of them that the Arc Knight felt her concerns had hardly been addressed. "This is for the sake of the living as much as it is for the dead. I do hope you will be able to find some peace of mind by the time this is over."

"...That is not something that can be easily found. Not after what happened." There was a slight pause before Tamara's head lifted again. Though her expression betrayed nothing, there was a glimmer of sorrow darkening in the depths of her blue eyes. "But we all have a duty to see to. I have not forgotten that," she said as she stared straight at the Grigori, and then at Shiro. 

“We are grateful for everyone’s cooperation in this matter. We wish you the best of luck on the task ahead,” the female Grigori said.

“We are depending on all of you," the eldest added, in a low somber voice. 

Despite his words, several gazes were unconsciously drawn towards Shiro. But once the newly-appointed paladin stood, the charged tension in the room dissolved, if only just a little, and they all left one by one as they moved to prepare.

Shiro picked up his pace as he heard Tamara’s heels clicking away at a fast pace. The moment he was out of the meeting room, he made a beeline towards the Norwegian exorcist. “Tamara!” he said, holding out his hand towards the Norwegian exorcist once she turned around. "Sorry for what I said, earlier. I'm counting on you." There was a respectful and somber tone to his words, and a sincere glint in his eyes.

Tamara stared at the hand before her. She looked at it in silence for a long moment before lifting her head. She met Shiro’s gaze with her own, gauging him, and reached over to accept his hand. “Apology accepted,” she said curtly. Then, her gaze strayed from his own for a moment as she glanced over Shiro’s shoulder, just in time to see Mephisto exit the meeting room, a jaunty beat to his step. His presence itself was enough to make her grip tighten. The fact that he outright stopped to stare at them made her jaw tense as well. She looked back at Shiro with a tight frown.

“Rest assured that despite my current feelings, I, and the rest of the team, will definitely do our part in this without any hesitation. You don’t have to worry about us. But it is you who we are all counting on, Father Fujimoto. It is no small task that the Grigori has placed on your shoulders. So please,” she said, letting her hand fall back to her side, “do your best. For their sake. We cannot afford to make any mistakes.”

“Don’t I know it.” Shiro offered her a lopsided smile. “Don’t worry. I know what’s at stake. I’ll be doing my best to do this properly. It’ll be reassuring to have you all behind me.”

“You just keep up that confidence, and try not to give us too much work, Father,” Osceola said with a small chuckle as he passed by them, delivering a heavy, friendly pat across Shiro’s back. “Let’s get this over with as quickly and smoothly as possible.”

Shiro spared a small cough as he straightened up again. “Agreed. No pressure, right? It’ll be a breeze.”

  
  
“Such youth.” Lucy walked past, a hint of a smile at the corner of her lips.

"You should redirect that endless enthusiasm of yours somewhere more productive," Adam said, sparing them a brief glance as he made his way to the nearest door, his coat billowing behind him.

Osceola let out a sigh that lifted his shoulders. "Work, work, work," he said, shaking his head from side to side. "It never ends."

"Nope." Shiro gave a melodramatic sigh. "What are we gonna do around all these workaholics, huh?"

"Work some more!" Adam called back to them as he inserted one the keys in his key ring into the door's lock. "Don't underestimate that promotion of yours, Father. If you thought the paperwork was bad before..." 

The man left them with that remark hanging in the air. Shiro winced while Osceola chuckled quietly in agreement as the door clicked shut behind him.

"I don't envy you," he told Shiro.

"Nor do I." For the first time that morning, there was a sliver of a smile on Tamara's lips. “I will see you all in a couple of days. Take care until then.”

“Yeah, you too.” Shiro watched Tamara as she, too, exited through one of the doors using a worn brass key. He looked at Osceola. “Guess we better be off too. Time’s a-ticking,” he said with a grimace. “I got a 24-hour isolation to look forward to.”

“Let me know if you need any help tying up any loose ends. I can’t promise I’ll handle them personally, but we’ll figure things out." Osceola lifted a hand and gave Shiro a short parting wave before heading for the nearest door. 

Shiro lifted his hand in a simple wave and watched Osceola disappear behind a door. He slipped his hands into his pocket and heaved out a breath. His previous smile had faded and all that remained was a pensive expression and a sour taste in his mouth.

His first task as a paladin — and what a task it was. The irony could not be any more bitter.

_ And here I was, trying my best to not go out as some demonic sacrifice _ , Shiro thought  wryly and he let out a quiet sigh. Beyond that, he was still a bit shocked by his sudden promotion. He had acted recklessly that fateful night, taking choices that, although he did not regret, were quite damning. Of course, Mephisto’s intervention had kept the worst of it all out of the public eye. But this outcome was the last thing he had expected. 

“A penny for your thoughts, Father Fujimoto?”

  
The voice came from the direction of the staircase that led to the Vatican Headquarters' main facilities.  Shiro turned his head and spotted a tuft of white fur peeking out from the top step. He turned his back towards the fluffy white dog again as he slipped his hand into h is pocket. "If all you're willing to pay is a penny, my thoughts are far out of your price range." Shiro pulled out a small box from his pocket and looked at the front of it. A scowl flashed across his face as he pulled a stick of gum from the pack, wishing for a cigarette instead.

"That's a surprisingly greedy answer, Father Fujimoto. Is it really alright for a man of cloth like yourself to display such qualities?" 

"More like I'd rather not indulge my thoughts to someone like you without proper compensation." Shiro chewed moodily. He glanced around a couple times to make sure no one else was around before walking over to the staircase and sparing the small dog a scratch behind the ears. "I've got a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it. Basic gist of what's going on in my head." He sat down on the first step and leaned back on one of his hands as he idly continued to pet the dog, whose tail wagged happily at the attention. 

They sat in silence for a moment. Then, the dog's droopy eyes glanced up at the man beside him. 

"We won't be able to meet like this for a while. Perhaps not at all, if things don't fall in your favor," the dog said, his voice not at all losing its light-hearted tone despite his morbid words. 

"Don't remind me." Shiro let his other hand fall and shifted to lean forward, his elbows on his knees. "A whole week... Maybe longer. I could die in any one of those rituals."

"It seems the Vatican is becoming very fond of placing heavy loads on your shoulders. Of course, it's only natural that they have high expectations of you. You have shown them that you can be a very reliable, trusted tool for them to use." The dog's gaze lowered and he turned to watch the scenery below them. Several exorcists were walking up and down the stairs, hurriedly heading towards their destinations. From this high up, their voices didn't carry clearly. Only a faint echo of blended words mixed together drifted to their ears. 

"It's not easy, being this high up, is it? You have so many people depending on you. Including that new pair of pups you decided to take in. Are you beginning to regret your choices?"

"Regret won't do me any good. It'll only hold me back."  There was a firm conviction in Shiro’s voice. Even so, his shoulders slumped slightly in the next beat, his expression growing troubled. "I do feel kinda bad about leaving them with Nagatomo and  the others these past few days. They're gonna have to, ah, puppy sit for another week or so." His voice had lowered down to a murmur. "You think if I don't mention that piece in confession, it'll still be okay?"

"Oh? Are you asking a demon for advice on this, Father? I can't say I'm an expert in these matters." The dog snickered quietly. 

"There's no one else I _ can _ ask," Shiro grumbled. "Trust me, you're not my first choice when it comes to asking for advice." He reached over and scratched under the dog's chin. "This is about all you're good for."

The dog let out a huff. "I see that I am still as underappreciated as ever." He lifted his chin up sharply, the gesture affronted, but it was rather obvious by the stretch of his neck that he had only done so to allow Shiro further access to it. His tail wagged happily behind him as he silently pondered on his question. He took his time to offer a response. 

"I don't think you have much to worry about. After all, don't your teachings say that, '_whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, for him it is sin _'?" he asked, raising a bushy eyebrow. "Even if it was a somewhat unorthodox choice, your heart remains clear, does it not?"

Shiro looked at the dog, his scratches pausing. "Huh. You're surprisingly insightful when you want to be." He picked up the dog, his hands under his front legs. “Any other bits of wisdom you care to share with me in my time of need?” 

“Hmm… Perhaps I should be the one asking for compensation,” the dog mused, his droopy eyes sparkling at the opportunity.

Shiro rolled his eyes. "Keep dreaming!” He held the dog against his chest and stood up. "I've got enough to worry about as it is, so don't even think of adding anything more to my plate,” he warned.

Outside of letting out a small huff, the dog wisely kept quiet in response as Shiro made his way over to the nearest door and pulled a key ring from his pocket. "So, what's your plan for today then?"

"Well, seeing as I'm to tag along with you all for the next week, I suppose I should arrange for someone to be in charge in my absence... Shizuku-sensei perhaps?" the dog wondered out loud, a hint of mischief in his voice. 

"I think there wouldn't be much of a difference if you're gone for a week. The Deans will get on just fine without you. Unless you're just looking for someone to drop your paperwork on." Shiro raised a brow. The dog matched his expression, not showing an ounce of shame at being caught on his ploy.

"Aren't you?"

“It's not like I have the power to snap my fingers and the paperwork be done in a second. At least I have an excuse.”

“I still have to work through that time, you know,” the dog pointed out, letting out a small, disgruntled huff. 

“Oh, boo hoo.” Shiro pushed the key in the lock and twisted it. The door swung open into a lavish, well decorated office. “Poor Chairman with literally all the free time in the world.”

“Are you complaining? After taking advantage of all my good will? Perhaps I’ll keep that in mind next time you come looking for a place to sleep.” The dog’s tone was playful, but nevertheless, he began to wiggle out of the other’s arms. Shiro loosened his hold and the dog hopped down, landing with far more grace than a dog ought to have. 

Shiro smirked. “You know it’ll be as much of a loss to you as it is to me, you slave driver. Not the best decision you’ll make.” He watched as the dog padded across the small distance between where they stood and the inside of the office. The moment the dog walked past the doorway, he paused, and suddenly, he was engulfed by a pink cloud of smoke. When it dispersed, Shiro’s smile widened just a bit more.

“Perhaps you’re right,” the Chairman said, amused. Then, in a lower voice, he added, “It will be quite boring, being all by myself, so do be careful, won’t you?”

The words hung between them as the reminder of what lay ahead surfaced again. Shiro stared at the long stretch of Mephisto’s back, his stomach clenching and fluttering simultaneously. The seriousness of the situation caused the heavy weight to return to his shoulders at once, and Shiro forced himself to take a deep breath to expel it. 

“Well,” he began in a softer tone, the teasing snark from before long gone. “I expect your pillows to be fluffed for me when I get back.” Shiro’s eyes wandered from the other’s lean shoulders, over to the brief glimpse of skin hidden between his cape and the nape of his hair. “I won’t let a little ritual be the end of me.”

"Of course not," Mephisto said, and he glanced over his shoulder, this time. A familiar smile curved those devious lips. His emerald-green eyes were lit with confidence. “See you later, Shiro.”

"See ya, Mephisto." Shiro smiled in return and closed the door. He changed out the key and opened the door again before stepping into the hallway of the cram school.

\--

TRUE CROSS ACADEMY

“I’m going to be away for about a week, but I’ll leave lesson plans and materials ready for two weeks’ worth, just in case anything goes wrong.”

“Which it won’t.” There was a loud huff behind Shiro, but the newly-appointed paladin did not break his stride as he made his way through the long hallway that led to his office. “If anyone can do this, it’s you, Father Fujimoto. But are you sure it’s wise to leave the children with even less protection?”

“It’s not like I’m taking a vacation, Tsubaki-kun.” Shiro grumbled. “You know this is important and the Chairman said we shouldn’t pause classes. We need to keep the kids safe and occupied to keep things from going out of control here at the school.” He glanced back briefly towards the tall, broad-shouldered young man, and—whether it was due to his gaze or his words—Tsubaki straightened up and nodded sternly. 

“The kids are our priority.”

Shiro smiled faintly. “You got it,” he said. He stopped in front of the door to his office and twisted the knob open. “I’ll try to stop by your office later and drop it all off then. Catch you later?” 

“Yes, of course,” Tsubaki said. Shiro let a quiet hum beneath his breath, his mind already deep into his lesson plans—

“Ah, that’s right, Father Fujimoto.” 

When Shiro glanced back this time, he was surprised to see that Tsubaki’s demeanor had become a lot more bashful. “I know this isn’t the best timing… But we finally set our date for the wedding. We’re going to have a summer wedding this coming June and—well, we’d be delighted if you could come!”

“Uh.” Shiro’s eyes widened behind his glasses, his face reddening a bit. “I, what? Really?” He laughed a little awkwardly. “That’s great. Um, sure? As long as nothing pops up, I’ll definitely be there.”

Tsubaki beamed at his response. “I’ll tell her you said yes! Very well!” He straightened up at once, nodding respectfully before quickly hurrying off with a flush in his cheeks and a pleased smile as he pulled out his phone in a second. 

“Honey~!!” Shiro could hear him saying happily into the phone.

Shiro rolled his eyes good-naturedly, an amused smirk curling at the corner of his lips, and stepped into his office, closing the door behind him. He had to hand it to Tsubaki and his fiancé. Even in these dark times, they still found happiness in each other. 

_ Guess some stories do have a happy ending, huh…? _

Unbidden, a memory of Yuri, not long before she had gotten pregnant, surfaced in his mind. 

_ “You here to see me off?” _

The image of her face, of that sweet, coy expression she liked to use on him, caused Shiro to stop still in the middle of the room and close his eyes. It wasn’t the first time he thought back on that moment—even now, he wondered what would have happened if he had stopped Yuri from sneaking into Section 13 that night.

_ “Urgh… Can’t you at least be honest with me here at the end?” _

Shiro opened his eyes and stared down at his right hand, regret heavy in his gut. His fingers closed into a small, loose fist as he thought back on all the missed opportunities he had let pass by. That really had been the last time she had addressed him so warmly. After… well, it had been much too late to talk of anything but the pressing issues at hand.

He let out a heavy sigh and let his arm fall back to his side. 

“Sure could use a cigarette,” he muttered under his breath, and continued on to his desk. Once there, he pulled out his chair and sat down heavily, determined to focus on his work. Unexpectedly, his boot immediately bumped into something as he scooted in. Furrowing his brow, Shiro moved back his chair and looked underneath his desk, only too immediately groan.

“Not _ you _again.” 

“Hi, Shiro!” The face of a young girl emerged from the shadows of the desk. Her strong little fingers latched onto the fabric of Shiro’s coat as she eagerly leaned forward, her amethyst eyes glinting with determination. “What’re ya doin’? Did ya miss me? Can I kiss ya? ♥”

Shiro grabbed her hands and pried them from his coat before lifting her out from under the desk to sit her on top of it. “Working, no, and _ NO,” _ he said firmly _ . _“Jesus, Shura. What in the world are they teaching you kids in the orphanage? And how the hell did you get out!?”

Shura’s entire face scrunched up at the question. “Like a stupid place like _ that _is gonna stop me from leaving,” she snapped, kicking her feet in agitation. She glared up into Shiro’s eyes for a split second before catching herself. Her expression became softer as a sweet smile curled around her lips. “Sensei, can’t ya help me with my homework~?” she asked in her brightest voice, her eyes hopeful. 

Shiro’s eyes narrowed disapprovingly. He crossed his arms over his chest, impatience etched into the lines of his body. “Ask the nuns. I told you, I’m working.” He stood up and walked across the room, towards his filing cabinet. “I’ve got to leave tomorrow, and I won’t be back for some time. I need to get things ready, so I don’t have time to play with you, Shura.”

“You’re leavin’?!”

Shiro held back a wince. And here was another thing in his long list of regrets. Of course, like with many of his problems, this one started with Mephisto. The demon had more or less left him no choice but to take care of the young girl Shiro had picked up in one of his missions. Though reluctant, Shiro agreed to foster the girl as he waited for the orphanage to have the room to take her in. And then Shiro made the mistake of allowing Shura to become his apprentice. 

It was the practical choice to make. The girl was talented and full of potential. Plus, she stuck to him like glue, no matter how much he pried her off. 

_ Dammit, Yuri. _

Yuri had her own hand in his suffering too. Her annoying persistence in being a “kind” and “considerate” person succeeded in softening him up—a little too much, clearly. He _ could _ have tried to pry Shura off harder. Now, he not only had her, but two more to take care of. 

He let out a heavy sigh. 

“Listen,” Shiro began, studiously looking through his files to avoid meeting the gaze burning holes into his back. “I can't take you along this one either. And don’t even think about following me. This mission is way too dangerous.” He took out a few papers out from the cabinet, tucking them under his arm, and shut it with a firm slam. 

“And anyway, I can't be taking you out so easily anymore, you know.” Shiro caught a glimpse of the growing mutiny in Shura’s face as he headed back to his desk, but persisted on. He picked her up unflinchingly and put her down on the floor next to his chair as he sat down. “You’re under the care of the nuns at the orphanage now and you should stay there.” 

“No way!” The eleven-year-old girl got right back into Shiro's space as she leaned in close and grabbed his arm. “I ain’t goin’ back to that place! Those people don’t mean nothin’ to me! _ Yer _supposed to be my teacher!” She dug her nails deeper into Shiro’s sleeve, not wanting to be shaken off again. “Take me with you! I can handle it!” 

Shiro jerked his arm but she didn’t let go this time.

“You don’t get it.” He scowled. Then, he took a deep breath and tried to reason with her. “Look, Shura. This mission is not… It’s not like the others,” he explained. “There’s a chance that I won’t come back alive and if I have to worry about protecting you, I’ll definitely fail. You’re staying here unless you want me dead.” His words were too harsh, too clear cut and dry; he tried to soften the next ones, lowering his voice to something a little gentler, though still firm. “Just listen to me already, will ya? Stop doing whatever you please. Don’t you know your actions have consequences?”

His questions did not garner a response. Shura merely tightened her grip on him and glared straight up at him. Shiro could see her frustration and distrust clearly reflected across her eyes. Perhaps this wasn’t his best approach; for a girl who admired him for his unrelenting strength, his words were simply too foreign to understand. There was a stubborn line forming on her lips. “No,” she finally said, her accent coming out thick as her voice turned tight. “Yer _ lyin’. _”

Shiro’s eyebrow twitched. “Tch.” He twisted his arm a bit in her tight grip, his patience running thin. “Why the hell would I be lying?” he said exasperatedly. He gave a quick glance towards his paperwork, at the reminder that he had to leave the cram school ready and safe in his absence, leaving plans and people in charge while he was gone. This was important now more than ever given the shaky morale they all held deep in their stomachs. He didn’t have _ time _ for this.

“Shura.” Shiro’s voice was as thin as a tightrope he reached over with his other hand and pried Shura’s fingers off his arm. He gripped both of her shoulders and looked at her straight in the eye. He could not afford to be distracted in the task ahead. “This mission is bigger than you. This mission is bigger than whatever relationship you think we have. You’re not going because if you do, I could lose focus, and if I lose focus, me, my team, and many innocent people will die. So you will do what I am telling you to do and spend the next week back at the orphanage, on your best behavior, until I come back.” Shiro shook her slightly when she did not immediately respond. “Do you understand me?” he pressed.

For the first time in their conversation, Shura did not meet Shiro’s eyes. She looked away from him and stared down at the floor with a hesitance that Shiro was unfamiliar with seeing in her. 

“Promise me.”

“Huh?”

“_Promise_,” the young girl repeated, her tone quiet, but just as firm as Shiro’s had been. “That the next one, you’ll take me to it.”

Shiro let out a soft breath, felt the tension drain away from his shoulders, just a little. He was glad he was able to get through to her. 

“Yeah. Yeah, alright, I promise,” he told her. After everything was said and done, Shiro couldn’t help but to feel some sympathy for the girl. He knew she was lonely, even now that she was living with more kids her age. He’d make sure to pay her a visit when he was back. He loosened his grip on her, but not before giving one of her shoulders a tight, comforting squeeze. 

But perhaps the encouragement was too much of an indulgence. Shura certainly seemed to think so, because in the next second, all of the energy Shiro was used to seeing in her returned. 

“Great! It’s a date then! ♥” Shura chirped, leaning forward in lightning-quick move to press a kiss into his cheek before she bounced away just as swiftly. 

“See ya later, Shiro!” the red-haired girl cried out, waving at him with one hand, while the other brought a familiar key into the keyhole of his office door. Shiro’s hand immediately went to his waist as he saw the view of the cram school’s library on the other side of his office door. 

“Huh?! When did you—”

Shiro’s hand stretched out in front of him as if to stop her, but Shura ducked away and the door slammed after her. An exhausted groan escaped Shiro’s lips, the sound muffled as his face pressed into his hands.

  
If Yuri was still here now, she'd _ absolutely _be laughing at him.


	2. Chapter 2

TRUE CROSS ACADEMY - EASTERN COURTYARD

It was in the early hours of the evening that Shiro managed to complete all his work. Outside, a warm golden hue had spread across the sky as the last few rays of sunlight slowly snuck under the horizon. Shiro stepped out into the courtyard once he finished dropping off all his paperwork. He stretched out his arms, working out the hard, tense kinks that had settled on his shoulders and neck. The long hours spent bent over his desk had taken a toll on him. He wished he had the time to take a quiet, leisurely stroll or go out for a drink. After all that hard work, he felt more than tempted to slack off, even for just a little bit. Alas, after taking a quick glance at his wristwatch, Shiro knew he could not procrastinate for long—so he settled for a simpler pleasure instead.

The wind was like a cool sigh against his skin as Shiro rode his motorcycle down the long, winding path from True Cross’ residential area and towards the southern gate. The streets were ghost-quiet; there were only a handful of people still milling about, most probably heading back home. Shiro gave a short wave to a pair of known faces as he drove past them, sparing a faint thought to his growling stomach as he eyed the grocery bags dangling from their fingers. Soon, he reached the expressway, and the moment he was on the wide open road, Shiro pushed his foot down on the pedal. All thoughts fled his mind then—only a euphoria-filled grin remained as the miles sped away beneath the black wheels of his motorcycle. 

_ Ah… I’ve missed this_.

It had been a couple of months since he’d had the pleasure of taking his baby out for a ride. There was nothing as liberating as the feeling of the wind buffeting against his face and the loud rumble that resonated between his thighs all the way to the center of his chest. Shiro often liked to unwind like this, especially on a long, hard day; though it was getting harder and harder these days to find time for himself. Putting the recent incidents aside, Mephisto somehow kept finding ways to put more and more work into his plate as of late. If it wasn’t additional duties at the Academy, then it was a mission in Greece, Tibet, Argentina... The sneaky demon was a slavedriver through and through.

_ “Oh? But you benefit well from my little requests, don’t you~?” _

Shiro revved up the engine and purposely drowned out the little traitorous voice in the back of his head. Although he was taking the scenic route, the destination ahead was not exactly far, and Shiro hardly wanted to spend his alone time thinking about even more work. He let his mind quiet down into a calm buzz as he stared ahead into the distance, watching the clouds bleed into a dark rosy pink as the sky continued to darken.

By the time he finally drove back into the city roads, a chill had settled into his skin, and the diamond-bright stars in the sky dimmed amidst the city’s nightlife. Shiro was forced to slow down as he entered the more trafficked areas. His stomach helpfully reminded him that he had yet to eat as he, not for the first time, drove past a familiar bakery whose bright green “WELCOME★OPEN” sign had been flipped around to read “CLOSED★SEE YOU”. 

The little shop had only been open for four months and was already incredibly popular, according to a certain demon. Unfortunately, Shiro had yet to have the pleasure of stopping by just yet. Despite not being a huge fan of sweets, Mephisto had assured him this place made a mean dark chocolate lava cake worth dying for, and he’d had the craving to test out that claim since then. Perhaps after this mission, he’d finally have the opportunity to check it out.

_ Something to look forward to at least, _Shiro mused, with a self-deprecating grin that remained on his face as he parked his motorcycle outside the gate of the Southern Cross Boys’ Monastery. 

There was no one outside to greet him save for the soft whisper of the unkempt bushes dancing along with the wind. Shiro crossed the courtyard with an unhurried gait. The entrance door of the monastery creaked as he made his way inside. 

“I’m back—” he called out before almost immediately tripping over a broom that had been left in the middle of the floor. _ Geez, _ Shiro thought, letting out a soft _ tch _as he straightened it up against the nearest wall, but not before noticing a trail of wrinkled receipts littering the dim corridor that led to the kitchen. 

Shiro’s eyebrows rose. It had only been a few days since he had last been here, yet somehow the place had become a lot messier than he remembered. He followed the mess into the brightly-lit kitchen, only to let out a short huffed breath of amusement as he spotted three of his assistants slumped around the table, dozing off. 

The kitchen was in much more of a disarray than what he’d seen of the rest of the place so far. There was a tall tower of dirty dishes piling up in the sink, next to a few recently cleaned baby bottles drying on the counter. On the table, there were several books—parenting books, Shiro realized as he took a closer glance—spread open, some of their pages already looking worn, food-stains covering the edges. Shiro understood the number of receipts when he saw the multitude of bags lined up on a not-so-straight line on the floor. More books, diapers, and formula powder were some of the many items that had been recently purchased. 

A warm sense of fondness mixed with appreciation curled around Shiro’s chest. His assistants had clearly been hard at work, diligently looking after their new charges. He winced sympathetically upon spotting the deep bags under their eyes, knowing they would have to put up with all of this without him for a little longer. 

Not wanting to disturb their well-deserved rest, Shiro pilfered a small pair of dinner rolls from the basket in the counter before heading out of the kitchen. The sweet-savory bite was a welcome treat to his empty stomach. He took his time chewing through the soft bread, unsure of when he’d next have a chance to pick up some food. He was licking the crumbs off his fingers when he arrived at the twins’ room.

The room was draped in shadows, dark save for the cheap pair of night lights that had been plugged into the walls. There had been some changes to the room in the short time he’d been gone. Shiro had only had enough time to build the crib for the kids before duty had called him away. Since then, a makeshift changing station had been created out of some linens and a foldable table Shiro had once spotted in their storage room. An old set of drawers, presumably still empty given all the items lingering in the kitchen, had moved in. There were even a couple of onesies, these brand new, hanging from the inside the half-opened closet. 

Most curious of it all, however, were the protection seals that had been placed on the walls and windows of the room; Nagatomo’s doing, Shiro suspected, knowing the man to be paranoid enough to take additional precautions like this despite the fact that the monastery lay atop blessed grounds. 

Eventually, Shiro’s eyes finally settled on the crib again. His heart skipped a drum-like beat as he took a daunted step closer to it, and then another. He held his breath as he peered down to watch the sleeping newborns.

It ached to see them, Yuri’s absence a wound still too fresh in his heart. But Shiro was nothing if not masochistic. He drank in every inch of their faces, and he could almost picture Yuri was still here, holding them in her tired, trembling arms. 

_ “Looks like... this one’s the quiet one, huh? He’s… so pale… That cute wrinkle on his forehead... reminds me of you, you know…” _

Her smile had been as radiant as it was heartbreaking. 

_ “Yukio… It suits him, right? And this one’ll be Rin.” _

She’d looked straight at him then, her gaze tired and pained, and even so just as warm as ever with an emotion he’d never dared to voice.

_ “I’d be happy if they both grow up and become just like you.” _

“Yeah, right,” Shiro murmured under his breath. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

They really did look like normal children, all curled up together like that. It would be hard for anyone to look at them now and call them Satan’s spawn. Rin, especially, no longer bathed in blue flames and screaming wild murder as he did at his birth, looked as innocent and fragile as any other newborn.

Shiro, of course, knew better.

_ What the hell did I get myself into? _

Shiro ran his hand through his hair as the stress of the situation settled deep in his gut. It was not the first time he questioned his decisions. Of course, he didn’t regret letting Yuri’s children live; but bringing them home? He was hardly qualified to raise kids. His own upbringing had been lacking at best, traumatizing at worst. He'd been so filled with anger and spite for the entirety of his childhood… It was his sheer force of will to survive that carried him through most of the early parts of his life, and that resentment had left him cold, alone, unapproachable. It was Yuri’s warm, stubborn persistence, the kind glow in her eyes, the gentleness in her smile, that had melted through Shiro’s barriers. 

He’d been lucky. But these kids? What did Shiro have to offer that could hold a candle to her? They'd know nothing about her, and he'd see her in their faces every day that lay ahead. But what other choice did they have? 

_ “You could always leave them in my care…” _

_ As if. _Mephisto’s offer had been tempting… As well as outright terrifying. Though the Demon King had become a close confidant, dare he even say friend, Shiro was not foolish enough to place the life of Yuri’s children under Mephisto’s calculating hands. He had no doubt the Demon King would influence them, one way or another, but Shiro vowed to himself to shield them from his manipulations and guide them as best as he could, for as long as he could. For Yuri’s sake if no one else’s.

Even so, he couldn't help but to dread what the future would bring for all of them.

“Father Fujimoto?”

Nagatomo’s worn figure loomed over the doorway of the twins’ room. 

“Hey,” Shiro greeted softly, stepping away from the crib. “Hope I didn’t wake you. How’s it been?”

The young man looked like he had been running himself ragged for days, a feeling that Shiro was intimately familiar with. Even so, Nagatomo’s eyes held a feverish-bright look of vigilance that only melted as Shiro came closer. 

“Well, it’s not been too bad. The young one’s been sleeping for the most part. But the other…” Nagatomo grimaced, and Shiro’s eyes caught on to the forming bruise on his chin with concern.

“Did something happen?”

Nagatomo let out a long sigh of exhaustion. “There hasn’t been a single sign of Satan’s flame, but the kid’s strength is absolutely monstrous.”

“Sorry to leave you all to handle it without me,” Shiro said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t think I would be summoned so soon.”

“No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” Nagatomo was quick to reassure him, his voice still a faint hush. “I was just telling Kyodo-san earlier that the kid’s really not unlike Shura, if you add on the possibility of breaking a few fingers.”

Though there was nothing funny about the prospect, Shiro couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped his lips.

“You guys have been an incredible help. Thank you,” he said, placing his hand on Nagatomo’s shoulder and giving it a light squeeze.

“Of course.” Nagatomo flushed at the praise. “I’m just glad to see you back. We’d appreciate an extra pair of hands.”

“About that...” Shiro eyed the dark bags under Nagatomo’s eyes and felt a twinge of guilt in his gut. “I’m going to be gone for another week,” he admitted, his voice apologetic. “Maybe even a little longer than that.”

Nagatomo, always the trooper, visibly tried not to show how disheartened he felt by that. “That long?”

“Yeah, well… I got promoted.” 

At that, Nagatomo’s mouth dropped open. He blinked twice as he processed the news and then his entire face lit up. “Wow! That’s—” he forced himself to keep his voice down, though the genuine excitement remained. “That’s amazing! Congratulations!”

“Thanks,” Shiro said with a crooked smile, though it did little to hide the worry still lingering in his eyes. 

“...You don’t look nearly as happy about it as I expected,” Nagatomo prodded gently, picking up on his mood. 

Whether because it had been a long day, or perhaps because this was Nagatomo, Shiro allowed himself a little honesty for once. “I’d be happier if the first task they dropped on my lap wasn’t so monumentally—” _ dangerous _ , he thought, “—well, a pain in my ass,” he finished with an annoyed _ tch. _

His words, of course, immediately brought out Nagatomo’s mother-hen tendencies. Shiro could read the worry on the other man’s face as if it had been written with a bright red marker.

“I’ll be fine. You don’t have to look so worried.”

“Then why do you?” Nagatomo pressed, without any demand in his voice, and Shiro didn’t know how to answer that.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” the younger exorcist asked instead when he realized this. 

Shiro shook his head. “You’re doing more than enough. Trust me.” Coming here had shown him that he’d been right to leave Yuri’s kids in the care of his assistants. It was this reassurance that had Shiro digging into his pocket for a letter he had prepared just before leaving the Academy. “I wrote some instructions here… Just in case I don’t make it back. But don’t open it unless that happens.”

Nagatomo took the letter, holding it tight between his fingers. “You’ll make it through. You always do,” the younger man assured him, and the conviction in his voice really did put Shiro at ease.

“Heh. I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“Like you need it,” Nagatomo said with a teasing lilt in his voice. “You’ve come a long way from being the Order’s resident problem child, Father Fujimoto.”

“Cheeky,” Shiro let out a short bark of laughter. He hadn’t heard that in a while. “And you’ve got a long way to go to catch up to me, Tomo-chan.”

A small whine of complaint emerged from the crib, reminding Shiro to keep his voice down. It also brought his attention back to his wristwatch, which reminded him it was time to move on from here.

“Listen,” Shiro said, resting his hand on Nagatomo’s shoulder once more. “Thanks again. And say hi to the rest of them for me, will you? I’ve got to split.”

“Sure thing,” Nagatomo said, stepping out into the corridor to allow Shiro to walk past him. He watched the older exorcist’s retreating back, and Shiro, feeling his gaze, paused for one last request, looking over his shoulder to meet Nagatomo’s eyes.

“And hey… Take care of yourselves too, will you? Get some rest.”

“...You too.”

\--

Of course, the moment Shiro stepped back outside, he wished he’d found an excuse to stick around the monastery for a little longer. There was one last thing on his to-do list for tonight, and he was not exactly eager to cross this one off. 

Before any long-term missions, but especially in preparation for rituals such as the one he would be performing, exorcists were required to stop by the confessional and speak with a priest to relieve themselves of any lingering doubts or regrets that were weighing on them. Shiro had never seen much point in the routine. There were too many things in his history he was contractually bound from speaking of anyway, so he’d often made a joke out of the practice in his younger years, trading rude and callous words with whoever was the unfortunate soul on the other side of the screen. Over time, his embarrassing temperament had changed; which, of course, made the practice an entirely more awkward experience. As such, Shiro had made it his personal mission to avoid the confessional whenever he could. Even on the rare occasions he did have something weighing on his mind, he wasn’t the type to pour his heart out to anyone, much less a stranger who knew nothing about him. 

However, as the Grigori had so pointedly reminded him, Shiro had a duty to see through. He at least had to make the effort to show up.

He just… didn’t want to do it just yet.

_ Wish I had more time to spare… Or maybe have a drink to really loosen my nerves... _

And wasn’t that a tempting thought. Shiro ran his hand down the leather seat of his motorcycle as he contemplated taking one last detour…

\--

TRUE CROSS ACADEMY - JOHANN FAUST RESIDENCE

No matter how many times he made the trip, Mephisto’s mansion always struck Shiro as gaudy. He supposed some people might find the extravagant decor elegant—Mephisto had once fruitlessly attempted to educate him on the fine details of its history and structure—but if Shiro didn’t know any better, he’d say the clown was overcompensating for something. 

Of course, the truth Shiro discovered was that neither the Italian marble floors, nor the vibrant and seasonally-handpicked flowers, nor the fine vases and rugs that had been acquired from many different parts of the world, were an intentional method of intimidation. There was no doubt that the Demon King was a showman through and through—but beneath all that also lay a hoarder in disguise. 

Shiro supposed that with a mansion as exuberantly big as this, it would be a waste to leave any room bereft of Mephisto’s innumerable collections. Shiro was sure he had yet to see the full extent of all of them, much less of this place. Not only was the size of it a challenge, but in addition, the tricky rooms of the house often traveled, either at the whim of their master, or of their own will; he wasn’t sure which one it was yet.

As such, Shiro was disappointed that when he walked through the tall, stained glass doors of the mansion’s entrance, Belial was not there to greet him. 

“Great,” Shiro grumbled as he slowly walked past the large copper vase in the center of the room, filled to the brim with a mix of white and butter-yellow daffodils. Though Belial was almost as ever-presently creepy as Mephisto, seemingly always aware of when Shiro was due to arrive, even when he wasn’t invited, it wasn’t uncommon for the demonic butler to be otherwise occupied by his Master’s whims, and therefore unable to guide Shiro through the mansion. 

Shiro stopped short in front of the pair of doors that ought to lead him straight to the foyer, where several grand staircases and a few more tricky doorways awaited him. Or, perhaps, if the doors were in a good mood, they would lead him straight to Mephisto’s bedroom instead.

_ “It’s really not as complicated as you make it ought to be. The house will always take you where you need to be, you know~ ☆” _

Shiro had yet to make sense of that statement, but he supposed there had to be some logic to this place that he’d yet to figure out. Given how short he was on time, however, Shiro had little patience nor desire to play around with the doorways. He held his breath as he closed his hand around the handle and prayed for the best—

A large, spacious room, as grandiose and extravagantly decorated as the rest of Mephisto’s mansion awaited him beyond the door. There was a dazzling crystal chandelier right above the center of the room, and in the rightmost corner of the room, a sentient record player wiggled patiently as it awaited instruction.

It was the ballroom. 

“Oh, come on,” Shiro muttered under his breath. He took a step back and closed the doors with a bit of a slam. He wasted no time giving it another try.

This time, the doors led him to the kitchen instead. There were a couple of pots and pans floating above the sink, thick bubbly suds dripping from the edges. The cutlery was drying itself off and slipping back into their appropriate drawers. On the floor, Mephisto’s favorite panda trash can was hopping after a pair of bananas that were peeling themselves bare; these, subsequently, were being cut into small slices that dove into the row of bento boxes lined up across the counter. 

Shiro’s eyebrow twitched in irritation, but the faint twinge of hunger in his stomach convinced him to step into the room to at least grab a snack. He grabbed a green apple from the fruit bowl with one hand while his other reached into his pocket. 

There was a simpler solution to his problem.

Shiro flipped open his phone. A popup came up on his screen, but it disappeared just as quickly as he thumbed the OK button until the contact list came up, allowing him to dial Mephisto’s number. His teeth dug into the crunchy exterior of his apple, the sour juices dripping from the corner of his lips as he listened to the line connecting.

“Hi~ Hi ~ Mephisto Pheles, here! ☆ Please leave a message after the—”

Shiro flipped his phone shut before the message could finish. 

“Tch.” 

He eyed the doorway once more. For a brief moment, he wished he knew how to call over any of the other weird servants that he knew were always around… somewhere. Shiro had only once had the rare opportunity to meet the creepy mask-wearing weirdos that were seldom seen much less heard of—and that had only happened because he’d been too injured to walk, and Mephisto had been too lazy to transport him directly, so he’d had him carried away by them to get more bedrest.

“You wouldn’t happen to know the way around here, huh?” Shiro asked the trash can that had moved on from chasing after bananas peels and was now hopping by his feet, waiting for him to throw away his apple.

At the lack of response, he let out a short sigh and finished his snack with one last bite before tossing away the core straight into the trash cans’ awaiting mouth.

_ So much for spending my last couple of hours hanging around here, _Shiro thought with no small amount of disappointment. Although Shiro would hate to admit it out loud, Mephisto was good company once one got past all his (many) eccentricities. Of course, it had taken a lot of years for him to arrive to that conclusion. When they’d first met, Shiro, in his foolish, daring youth, had vowed to kill the Demon King with his bare hands. The clown had been an infuriating pest, and Shiro had hated him as much as he’d feared him. He, along with everything and everyone around him, had been the primary targets of the bitter vendetta that Shiro had carried with him through most of his childhood.

But in time, his anger towards the world dulled. Yuri broke through his barriers and melted the ice surrounding his prickly heart; Mephisto, already a permanent fixture in his life since the time he’d become an exwire, sought after him with an equal amount of persistence, tagging along in his classes, or missions at his own whim. It had been an annoying, confusing, and oftentimes exasperating experience, but in the end, Shiro came to enjoy the benefit of Mephisto’s company. The demon was tricky, yet wise; his advice held hidden layers, and he could be as cruel as he was kind, but though his motives were often tough to decipher, at the core of his intentions, he often seemed to have humanity’s best interest at heart. 

Perhaps this too was Yuri’s demon-loving influence on him, but Shiro couldn’t help but to let his guard down around him. He was not crazy enough yet to think that he could tame a Demon King, much less place his wholehearted trust into him, but… Mephisto had really become his closest friend. 

_ Maybe if I ask nicely, he’ll just make a key, _Shiro thought somewhat wistfully as he went to give the door one last try. To his delight, his luck finally struck true. The door gave way to the comforting sight of the visual eyesore Mephisto called his bedroom. 

The room itself was filled to the brim with an otaku-level of paraphernalia: mountains of manga volumes and video games stacked into neat towers; posters of various anime characters covered every inch of the walls; hundreds of figurines were posing happily behind meticulously clean display cases; and atop Mephisto’s massive king-sized bed was an extensive collection of body pillows and stuffed animals that bordered the line of either cute or obscene.

There was just one particular thing missing from the room...

“Mephisto?” Shiro said out loud, just in case the clown was just hiding somewhere. Unfortunately, no spontaneous burst of smoke followed his question. It looked like Mephisto really was unavailable at the moment. 

_ At least he’s not just playing video games and ignoring me, _Shiro supposed. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Shiro let out a small sigh and gave a quick glance to his wristwatch. He contemplated whether it was worth waiting for the other to show up, but he knew he was just trying to keep on putting off his visit to the cathedral. 

“Ugh.” _ Guess I ought to get that over with. _And maybe if he was quick enough about it, he could try stopping by again.

With that thought in mind, Shiro approached Mephisto’s nightstand with the intention of leaving him a note. As he grew closer, he noticed a couple of items had already been left on the nightstand. There was a small shot glass, filled to the brim with an amber liquid, sitting next to a book on spirit invocation. Attached to the front cover, there was a note written by Mephisto’s impeccable cursive, clearly addressed to him. 

_ Thought you could use a sip of courage~ I’m a little tied up right now, so I hope this can keep you entertained in my absence. Have you learned the steps yet? _ ~ _ Mephisto Pheles ~ _

_ P.S. Be sure to put on a good show for me, will you _ ? _ ❤ _

Shiro rolled his eyes. 

“Jerk,” he muttered, feeling equally as disgruntled by Mephisto’s absence as he was charmed by the somewhat thoughtful gift. He eyed the book with some trepidation before picking the shot glass and downing it in a quick gulp. The liquid burned pleasantly in his throat and warmed him all the way down to his toes. It was a small comfort that he would not be able to indulge in the coming days. 

_ Liquid courage indeed… _

The worries that lingered in the back of his mind had not dissipated, but Shiro knew he could not let them cripple him. All he could do was prepare as best as he could for the challenge ahead and allow himself to rely on the support of his fellow comrades.

_ “Do be careful, won’t you?” _

He took the book with him on his way out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of Shiro’s birthday today, here’s another chapter! 
> 
> I really want to get back to writing more of this fic, haha. But lettersverse really has its hooks on me!
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter!

  
VATICAN CITY - TRUE CROSS HEADQUARTERS

“My, my, don't you look handsome.” 

Shiro felt… ridiculous. The preparations that led up to this ritual were a little bit too much, in his opinion. He could understand the need to prepare one’s heart via prayer, confession, self-meditation, and all that. He could even tolerate the limited, cleansing diet he’d had to pick up in the last twenty-four hours. But the accompanying outfit… Shiro really found it to be utterly, completely unnecessary. 

“I really don’t see the point of wearing this so early in the game,” Shiro said, fiddling with the golden bangles encircling his wrists. 

Lucy tutted in response.

“I’m sure you’ll feel more at home with the outfit when the time comes,” the Chinese woman said as she stepped closer. She was the first of his companions to arrive at the Vatican’s headquarters. Shiro was glad for the company after having spent an entire day dealing with his own thoughts; he did, however, feel a little exposed to her gaze. On any other occasion, Shiro would have been more than happy to receive that sort of attention, but...

“They definitely didn’t think this through. These clothes aren’t exactly made for traveling,” Shiro pointed out. 

The outfit was a mix of golds and reds amongst a sea of white. The fabric was light and comfortable, perfect to wear out on a hot day. But it was, in Shiro’s opinion, a little too revealing. The black, sleeveless turtleneck that clung to his skin was not even long enough to cover his midriff, and the gold-collared, sleeveless jacket that lay atop it was only long enough to cover his sides. The pants, a matching pale cream color, were a little loose on him, tightened only by a red, thin cord belt around the golden waistband. Long, black fingerless gloves covered his arms, secured into place by the golden bangles in his wrists and upper arms, the latter from which a pair of long, crimson scarves dangled. 

“You’ll be fine with a cloak,” Lucy said dismissively as she leaned against one of the walls of the room and brought out her pipe. “Plus, a little discomfort will go a long way in helping you feel more attached to Assiah during the rite.” 

“Tch. Doesn’t make this whole thing any less annoying,” Shiro grumbled, crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

Lucy let out a low hum. “I suppose not,” she said as she lit up her pipe. Shiro’s nostrils flared and his eyes lingered on Lucy as she idly played with the smoke, slowly curling each breath of it into whimsical shapes.

“Did you ever see Abel perform it?” she asked him after a while. Shiro took a second to register the question.

“Hmm? The rite? No.”

“No?” Lucy’s eyebrows rose in surprise. 

“I was in Kyoto, that last time,” Shiro explained. It had not by choice, though he’d been glad to miss out on it at the time.

“Hmm. I saw Abel then, and once before that, too,” Lucy told him, another long breath of smoke escaping her lips. “Of course, he never had to do one on this scale. The last time this ritual was performed to such a large extent…” She paused to think about it. “It must have been as far back as the last great war…” 

It was still rather hard, swallowing that fact. The number of people affected by the Blue Night was larger than what anyone could bear to fathom. Shiro kept trying not to think about it too deeply, despite the hand he had to play in helping them all. Though he’d mostly made peace with himself about it, it was still rather overwhelming thinking about the stakes of the task that lay ahead.

“They couldn’t have made it easy for us and just passed on all on their own, huh?” Shiro said, only partly joking. 

“Would you have?” Lucy countered. Her tone was gentle, as if she could read the worry behind his words. “Life is a precious thing. There are very few that let go of this world easily. Not to mention… this was a cruel and unexpected death.” 

It had been. Shiro had been a firsthand witness to the gruesome sight of his comrades burning alive, the flesh melting off their bodies, their bones dissolving into ash. He could still hear, in a small corner in the back of his mind, the resounding screams, the chaos, the pain and the panic. There was no way in hell that any of them had moved on easily. That level of suffering, of grief over their own unexpected deaths, would lead to trouble if left unchecked. And the longer all those affected refused to face their fate, the more they would grow to resent those still alive. And in time, that envy would turn to anger, even hate.

What remained would be no easy demon to exorcise; and the Order really didn’t have enough numbers in their ranks to deal with the fallout.

“I don’t suppose you have any pointers for me, do you?” Shiro said, feeling a bit of regret at having never seen his predecessor at work.

“Trust yourself. You will guide them well,” Lucy assured him. 

Shiro rubbed the back of his neck, accepting the sentiment, generic as it felt. 

“Well, let's get through the first part first, huh?” he said.

* * *

RUSSIA - HIGH UP IN THE MOUNTAINS

_ Why, _ Shiro thought with thinning patience, _ did it have to be in the mountains? _

The group of six left the Vatican at eight o’clock, sharp, after having been debriefed on the locations they had to visit. The data, unfortunately, only contained rough estimates, so they’d started with the one they knew the most details to—courtesy of Professor Kozlov. 

“My team has been here before. We’ve done several studies of this area in the past,” Adam explained as he read through the paperwork. “It’s been a while since I’ve visited the site, but I can guide you to it. Be warned, it will not be a pleasant journey.”

Understatement of the century.

“This… is so… impractical,” Shiro said through gritted teeth as a brisk gust of wind rolled in, cutting through the bare inches of skin not quite covered by the cloak he’d donned as soon as they’d arrived in Russia. He regretted having ever complained about the drab outfits the Vatican regularly provided them; everyone else looked drastically warmer in their fur-trimmed winter uniforms. In comparison, his only advantage was the low-level fire demon he’d summoned to inbedd the lining of his cloak.

“At least it's not snowing, right?” Osceloa said, sparing him a sympathetic glance.

“Not yet, you mean,” Shiro muttered, disgruntled.

It was a stroke of luck that it was not already snowing. When they first started their trek, the sky had been entirely clear, and the sun had illuminated the path ahead of them, a pale golden hue that sparkled into the distance. Since then, the warmth of the sun had been secreted away behind a thick blanket of clouds. Each step forward had increasingly become more and more miserable as they trudged forward through the ankle-deep snow. The wind was growing fiercer, its resounding howl echoing across the mountain range.

Shiro hoped the rest of their journey went by much more smoothly.

“Achoo!”

Trailing at the backend of their group, Mephisto sniffled loudly, looking uncharastically cold. 

_ He’s definitely faking it, _Shiro thought, not even bothering to glance back. He’d seen Mephisto wear much less in worse weather. He wasn’t exactly sure whose sympathy the demon was trying to garner, but Tamara, at least, was definitely not taking the bait. 

In fact, the Norwegian exorcist had hardly said a word since they had stepped into the research camp that Adam had directed them to, courtesy of one of Mephisto’s handy keys. Shiro had caught a small glimmer of something hot and angry in her eyes as she watched Mephisto close the door behind him with a jaunty twirl of his umbrella, but the emotion disappeared as swiftly as it had come.

Shiro couldn’t help but to see a little of his old self reflected back in that frosty, unreadable expression. It made him uneasy. He wondered what was going through her head. Shiro knew little about her, save for the few snippets of her background he had caught through the grapevine. Although he was confident in her skillset, he worried her focus wasn’t in the right place. 

Unbidden, he let out a long sigh. His breath floated up, heavily visible, and Shiro made an annoyed click with his tongue as his glasses immediately fogged up. 

“You doing alright?” Lucy asked, slowing down her pace just enough so that her quiet words could be heard through the deafening gusts of wind.

“You think I’d feel used to this by now,” Shiro said dryly, wiping his glasses clear. “We’ve had a long goddamn winter back home. Wish they had sent us to a nice, warm beach instead.”

Lucy let out a short huff of laughter. “Sounds like you’re ready for a vacation already, Father.”

“Yeah, well… Maybe I should schedule one right after this is over. Who knows what other crazy stunts the Vatican will have me do next.”

“It won't be much longer!” Adam’s voice carried loud and clear from the front. His already long strides picked up pace, forcing everyone else to do the same, lest they lose sight of him. “We’re making good time—do keep up, will you?”

Sure enough, it was only another ten minutes before the climb up evened out. A large snow-filled plain stretched before them, and in the distance, a wall made of solid ice towered over them. Shiro wasn’t sure how far up in the mountain they were, but the wall itself almost seemed as high as the climb had been. It stretched upward for several hundred feet, impenetrably, beautifully, immovable. And there, almost unseen in the wide stretch of it, a sharp gap of an entrance awaited them, a dark mouth as welcoming as the abyss itself.

“Is this…?” Tamara’s voice was awestruck as she stopped in her tracks to admire the structure before them. 

Osceola let out a low whistle.

“That’s a hell of a wall,” he said.

“If you think that’s impressive… wait until you see the inside,” Adam told them with a self-satisfied smirk.

There were some strange markings covering the rim of the entrance, visible now that they were closer to it. A language lost to time perhaps. Shiro looked over the sigils with curiosity as they stepped into the structure. Their footsteps, still laden with snow, were muted as they walked through a narrow passage that soon opened up into a small room that held nothing more than a ten-foot wide pool of water.

“This is it?” Shiro asked, eyebrows raised with confusion. There was nothing remarkable about where Adam had led them to.

“Don’t be daft,” the researcher was quick to say, his tone dismissive. “We’re almost there now. Hope you don't mind a quick swim.”

The group watched as Adam, without further word, dived straight into the pool before them and disappeared into its dark depths. 

“Are you kidding me right now?” Shiro said. He didn’t have to touch the water to know it was going to be freezing. “Is he really as loopy as I thought he was?”

Osceola jostled his side with his elbow, a slight reprimand despite the grin threatening to emerge on the corner of his lips.

“He did say it was a short swim.” 

“Yeah, right.”

“Now, now, Father. Are you an exorcist, or not?” Tamara hovered over the pool with an intrigued gleam in her eyes. She looked over her shoulder, meeting Shiro’s gaze with a challenging one of her own, before she, too, dove in.

_ Crazy, _Shiro thought as he took a slow couple of steps forward. He glared at the rippling water, staring down at the warped sight of his scowling reflection. “Have I mentioned how sick and tired I am of being cold yet?” 

Osceola's chuckle reverberated in the small cavern. 

“You gonna need a hand there?”

“Tch. No thanks.” 

Shiro pressed his hands together and muttered a dismissive chant beneath his breath. The comforting heat of his fire summon seeped away like a dimming light bulb. He took in a readying breath, already feeling goosebumps rising up the length of his arms.

“See you on the other side.”

Ice, cold water surrounded him as he took the plunge. His bare stomach contracted painfully, and Shiro grit his teeth, bearing through it in the same way one would a spearing wound. He wasted no time looking for the path his comrades had taken. The narrow passage was in clear sight, and Shiro swam towards it, cleaving through the water in a handful of strong strokes. His clothes clung to him like a second pair of skin, but the water was still and easy to navigate through. He emerged on the other side a little numb, but hardly winded.

“Whoa…”

Shiro floated closely towards the ledge. His mouth hung open as he took in the sight before him. Adam had not been kidding after all. Before him lay a cloistered wonder, humbled by time, yet no less impressive in its age. The cavern stretched and stretched upward, just as imposing in its towering length from within as it had been from outside. Winding, crumbling staircases paved the stone gray walls, leading to paths unseen. In front of him, a dozen more pools of water rested calmly, an eerie, luminescent glow lurking from beneath their dark depths.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” Adam said. Beside him, Tamara nodded, the movement slow, appraising. That awed shine was back, peeking through the stern, studious look that covered her face.

Shiro’s fingers pressed against the stone floor as he pushed himself up to his feet. 

The air was still, but the chill that awaited them outside still seeped through the cavern. He shivered and shook his head. Thick droplets escaped the tips of his hair, his pants, the scarves hanging from his arms, all puddling beneath him. He reached into the pocket of his jacket, intending to take out his book of summons, but the movement caught Tamara’s attention. 

“Oh, don’t trouble yourself. I’ve got this.”

Tamara’s hands glowed and her voice carried across the vast cavern as a young, fairy-like water demon—a Nereid—emerged from one of the pools at her command. The demon got straight to work, its boyish face puffing up as it took in a single, gulping, breath. The air trembled for the span of a heartbeat—then, the moisture in the air lessened. The water weighting their clothes down slowly detached from the fabric, from the surface of their skin, and the clear beads of water were drawn in the direction of the demon, who swallowed it all down with gusto. When they were all dry, the Nereid let out a decisively satisfied noise—before dissolving with a loud splash as Tamara dismissed it in a quick motion, the magic circle tattooed on her skin fading back to black.

“That's a handy trick.” 

Shiro glanced behind just in time to see the faint, glossy outline of the bubbles that surrounded Osceola and Lucy before they disappeared with a resounding, wet pop.

Tamara raised an eyebrow. “Likewise.”

Lucy grinned, twirling her pipe between her fingers gracefully. The two exorcists were completely dry despite their delayed appearance. Shiro connected the dots and suddenly regretted having turned down their earlier offer. It would have saved him the cold swim. 

“Where’s Sir Pheles?” Adam asked, drawing closer to the group upon noticing the absence of the last member of their group.

Osceola shrugged lightly. “He stayed behind. There’s no point in him coming any further.”

“He ought to be kept under watch,” Tamara objected with a click of her tongue. “Who knows what that demon will be up to in our absence.”

Shiro was absolutely sure that the only nefarious thing Mephisto was up to right now was converting that cramped, cold room into a mini luxury resort. He would not be surprised if, when they returned, the Demon King was resting on his trusty, plump couch, reading manga and snacking on sweets while a warm fire flickered at his feet.

Best not to put that thought in any of their heads though.

“You’d rather spend more time putting up with his nonsense? No thanks,” Shiro said instead. “Let him freeze his ass off by the entrance. Maybe we can make a snowman out of him when we get back,” he joked, and that, at least, did help evaporate some of Tamara’s tension. The Norgegian exorcist let out a small sigh, and Shiro shared a small smile with her before catching Adam’s eyes.

“Come on, let’s get this trip over with. Professor, if you would?” 

Adam nodded sharply. He took the lead once more as they walked past the luminescent pools and towards the nearest flight of stairs. They climbed. Every once in a while, the professor took them through what he called a shortcut and Shiro internally called an inconvenience to the mental map he was trying to draw out. 

Despite knowing better, the all-consuming silence made the cavern seem deserted. The bleak, gray walls felt oppressing in their height, and the more they climbed, the less inclined Shiro felt to peer down at the distancing safety of the ground floor. He was eager to get this task over with. The unrelenting chill that permeated through the structure was making him irritable; then again, Shiro could hardly think of a time where that wasn’t the case. Winter had never favored him with pleasant memories—not in those early days of his childhood, where he spent a majority of his time in the clinically frigid conditions of Section 13’s laboratories; not in the scattered weeks he’d been homeless and with little means to fend for himself after having run away from the Order... It had been a snowy day, too, when he’d been forced to say his last farewell to the man who had once appointed himself as his mentor. Shiro hadn't cared much for him, not really, but it hadn’t been until that moment, when the man took his very last breath, that Shiro realized how alone he felt in the world he had been born into. That crudely scabbed wound had been torn open further only days ago, as Yuri’s life ebbed away, cradled in his arms...

“This is it.”

Shiro blinked, casting away the painful memories. His gaze darted towards the front in time to see Osceola and Adam team up to pull open a heavy iron gate. 

The view on the other side certainly looked ceremonial. The walls were decorated with delicately carved illustrations: a sea of carnations, marigolds, and peonies bloomed from multiple, connecting branches that stretched all the way up towards the ceiling. Statues of long forgotten deities stared down at them, their chipped fingers knotted together in prayer. At the center of the room, there was a large body of water covered in lily pads that surrounded an isolated, oval-shaped platform. Shiro took careful notice of the writing that covered the floor of the platform—the illegible symbols were much like the ones he’d seen around the entrance door. 

“Alright then.” Shiro took a slow, quiet breath as he stepped up to the front of the group. “Get ready,” he said, squaring his shoulders before approaching the center of the platform. 

He knelt down and brushed his fingers down the textured floor. Shiro could feel everyone's gazes burning into his back as he spoke in a strong, steady voice.

“...I call upon the Maiden of the Sea and the Sky. I speak thy name, Sirin, and summon thee.” Immediately, Shiro began to feel a low hum of power thrumming beneath his skin. A tiny, whisper of a song reverberated within the cavern. Then, a slight tremor rumbled beneath their feet. The lily pads rocked as the water surrounding the platform began to ripple. 

“My, my.” An ethereal voice rang out as sweet and as clear as a bell. “It has been a while since I’ve had visitors.” 

A figure emerged from the water, at first indiscernible, a being of little substance; then, the cascading water revealed a thin, womanly shape. Beautiful iridescent scales covered the body of the demon, up the length of her waist, the swell of her small breasts, decorating every inch of her bird-like face.

“Sirin,” Shiro said, staring up at the demon. “I ask that you lend me thy power so that the souls of the dead may be put to rest.”

A sly smile crept across the demon’s face. Her eyes gleamed, a dark honeyed amber that seemed to peer into the depths of Shiro’s heart. “You seek a pact with me?” she asked. The words danced around them, whimsically soft. “How amusing. Let’s see if you can handle me.”

Faster than the span of a blink, the demon darted forward, aiming the razor-sharp nails of her claws towards him. Shiro nimbly ducked out of the way, somersaulting backwards with one hand. He was on his feet, aiming a pair of handguns at her within the next second. 

“Lucy!” Shiro said sharply as he began to fire off several rounds into the demon. Sirin ducked back under water, only to reappear just as quickly, chuckling in response. The continued exposure to her melodious voice was making him weak in the knees. He knew the others were not faring any better.

Thankfully, Lucy wasted no time producing several air-filled bubbles around their heads. All sound became muted at once, though their vision remained clear. Shiro shot a few more rounds towards the demon, taking a quick inventory of the group as she jerked her body away from his aim. Adam and Lucy had pulled back, away from Sirin’s primary range of attack, and they were studiously chanting, radiant magic circles hovering in front of them. Tamara had drawn out a long segment staff, and with a few muttered words, the tip of it sharpened, the shape now closer to one of a spear. Osceola was already in the midst of it all, aiming powerful punches at Sirin. The thick bangles on his wrists were glowing, and a purple aura had engulfed every inch of his muscled arms, enhancing his strength.

The demon was quicker than any of them had been expecting, gliding through the water with ease, and only joining them on the solid ground to unleash a flurry of precisely aimed attacks, which they, at times, struggled to parry with. Osceola and Tamara tangoed with her quite well, trading blow after blow with no breath to spare—but the water was their greatest disadvantage and Sirin wasted no time to exploit that. As if in the midst of a torrential storm, the water began to swirl violently and formed pillars that rose up to the ceiling. Their limited ground became damp and difficult to navigate through. Lesser demons emerged from the water. Shiro immediately switched targets, picking off each of the piranha-like pests that tried to get in between Tamara and Osceola's two-tag assault. 

The pillars of water grew and grew, thick cyclones that tore apart anything that came across their path. Lucy’s focus switched from fortifying their attacks, to dealing with their water problem. She summoned several Nereides, taking a page out of Tamara’s book. It was a slow process, even with a dozen of them at work, but their foe felt the change immediately, narrowing her bright eyes at them in irritation. A tall wave crashed heavily into Adam’s barrier in retaliation, and more were following. Knowing they could not afford any more distractions, Shiro turned his focus back on her. His next shots were aimed at the ceiling space above Sirin’s head. As debris began to cascade onto her, Osceola managed to get a good punch into her gut that slammed her against the wall. 

Sirin let out an inaudible snarl. 

Shiro could not afford to even stop to smirk at the sight, because in the next second, a whip-like sensation struck his back painfully and he fell to the ground in one fell swoop, breathless. He grit his teeth, rolled over to avoid the second coming of the water whip, and aimed the next shot straight at her face. The bullet went straight through her eye.

Sirin reared back. She let out a visibly pained screech and pushed everyone away by a few inches with another crashing wave of water. Her hands clutched her face. Her hair splayed out behind her, flailing wildly in fury. Shiro shot another few rounds, aiming at her other eye as he scrambled to his feet, but just before making contact, the bullet was slapped to the side by her hair. The tentacle-like strands stilled then, and as she held Shiro’s gaze through the gaps of her fingers, murder etched on her pretty face, her hair slowly dropped down to her back, sticking to her scaly skin, then merging with it. A thin, membrane-like film developed over the thick locks, raw and red and delicate. And similarly to a cocoon, the skin broke apart grotesquely as a pair of wings, bloody and as dark as her hair had been, emerged from her back. She took flight immediately. 

It was much harder fighting her now that she was airborne—now that she was feeling furious rather than playful. But they were wearing her down little by little. Sirin was vicious, relentless, and clever, but there was only one of her, and five of them. Lucy got on the offensive herself, aiming a few energy beams at the demon. Between that and Shiro’s own barrage, they managed to shoot her down, and Tamara stepped up then, summoning a pair of eels that tightly wrapped around their foe, and shocked her. 

Outside the safe confines of their bubbles, Sirin’s melodious voice let out a shuddering wail.

Knowing she had little strength left to resist, Adam and Lucy took their chance to summon a pair of purple chains that cuffed her wrists together. A collar of the same material materialized around her neck. Shiro kept his guns pointed at her. 

“It's over,” he told her.

Sirin let out a snarl, bearing her pointed teeth at him, but the smoldering fire in her golden eye lessened after all was said and done. She slumped slightly, an admission of her defeat. A small bubble of laughter escaped her as she shook her head ruefully.

“You’re a strong bunch,” Shiro heard her admit once the bubbles surrounding everyone's heads popped out of existence.

“What is your name?” she asked.

Shiro took a step forward, but did not lower his aim. “Fujimoto Shiro.”

Sirin nodded minutely. “I will lend you my aid. Come close, I will teach you the words.”

Shiro did not lower his guns until he was in front of her, and even then, his fingers remained light on the triggers. He repeated the words she spoke into his ear, standing tautly even though he wanted nothing more but to shiver at the sound of her voice. 

When it was all said and done, she merely raised her cuffed wrists; a pointed gesture. Lucy and Adam cautiously dismissed the restraints they had summoned, allowing Sirin to pull back. 

She stared straight into Shiro’s eyes. He wondered what she was thinking, what she was hoping to find as that bright amber gaze pierced into the depths of his own. 

“I will see you again,” she promised with a slight inclination of her head before dissolving away to tend to her wounds. 

Shiro blinked, the tension in his shoulders finally melting away. 

“Well,” he said. “That was fun.” 

He felt sore now that the adrenaline of the battle was wearing off. He'd taken a few hard hits, but the fight had been more winding than life-threatening. He turned around to take stock of how everyone else was doing. Though they had made a solid plan before getting here, the fight had dragged on for longer than they had anticipated.

“Not bad, paladin,” Osceloa said, shooting Shiro a tired smile as he ran his hand through his damp hair. The man barely spotted a bruise, just a handful of surface nicks from Sirin’s claws.

“Not so bad yourself. All of you.” He caught Tamara’s gaze with a raised eyebrow. “That last move of yours really came in handy. Just what else do you have up your sleeve?”

Tamara smirked, wiping a bit of blood off her cheek. “I’m sure you’ll be well acquainted with a few more by the time all this is over.”

“Heh. Your reputation really does precede you.” His eyes lingered on her for a bit longer, but he determined she did not look any worse for the wear. 

“Well then, if none of you need medical attention, let's get going. We've got a long way to go.”

It was Shiro who took the lead on their way back down, and when it was time to cross through the underwater tunnel, he more than happily asked Lucy to do her bubble trick one last time. 

“Welcome back!” 

Mephisto greeted them cheerfully as they returned. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a warm fire in front of him, and a stack of bento boxes at his side, one of which he was already digging into himself.

“How did it go?” he asked brightly after swallowing down a mouthful of octopus-shaped sausages.

“...This isn’t a field trip, you know,” Tamara said, her face impassive save for her eyebrow twitching in irritation.

Osceola put a hand on her shoulder. “Now, now. Let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth, huh?”

“She has a point,” Shiro interceded, although he was eyeing the campfire with longing. He swallowed dryly, suddenly wishing for the warm comfort of a cigarette. “I’m ready to get out of this place,” he said instead. “We can eat on the go.”

“Hmm, well, if you’re sure,” was Mephisto’s only response. 

The light tone made Shiro look past him, past the short tunnel that led them outside. He was unsurprised to see that it had finally begun to snow. The tiny frozen droplets almost looked like feathers as they drifted from the sky.

He groaned. _ Of course, _he thought, completely exasperated at their luck. 

They really had no choice but to settle down for a while.


End file.
